


Time Is Numbered By Days

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been fifty four days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Is Numbered By Days

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Beth, BK, and Lauren for beta'ing
> 
> this is just a little AU I wanted to do-- it has nothing to do with my other Zombie AU, In This Twilight...
> 
> Happy Halloween!

**fifty-four.**

“What do I miss most about before the world went to shit? I miss running water, taking long, hot showers and jacking off. I miss not smelling like shit, not having to use wet wipes as a poor substitute for the real thing. I miss bottled water, where we didn’t have to fucking boil it before we drank it.”

Stiles stared up at the sky, clear with only a couple stars shining bright. The ground was hard beneath him, dry and cracked just like his lips. He gnawed at them anyway, knowing that it would only make them bleed later. 

“I miss microwaves,” Scott said from where he lay next to Stiles, but facing the opposite direction. “With bagel bites and pizza rolls. I miss processed food.”

“Don’t talk about food,” Stiles complained, patting his bare stomach. He’d discarded his shirt earlier due to the heat. His skin was already tanner than it had been before Z-day, due to travelling and being out in the open. 

Scott’s stomach growled and they both broke out into grins, giving each other a look. Stiles strummed an unknown beat against his flat stomach, then sighed as he sat up, his eyes squinting towards their camp. 

“Do you think they caught anything?” Stiles asked. “I could use something real right about now, no more fucking KIND bars.” 

“I’d rather eat a KIND bar than dog food,” Scott said, which Stiles understood. That had been a bad week in regards to scavenging. Scott lifted his head, sniffing the air. “I think they got something.” 

They got up, dusting themselves off and grabbing their weapons where they’d been laying beside them, never far enough away that they couldn’t use them if need be. 

It’d been fifty-four days since Z-day. Fifty-four days of fighting for their lives, of being separated from their families and friends. At least they had each other, that they’d been together when the panic started. 

The group they were with didn’t know that Scott was a werewolf. It was safer if they didn’t know. Scott and Stiles were inseparable, even took watch together. They weren’t in Beacon Hills anymore; it had been overrun. When they left, it had been sacked, windows broken and buildings set aflame. Stiles tried calling his dad, but he’d been on duty. 

Leaving had been the single hardest thing that Stiles had ever done in his life. 

Now the cell towers were all dead and electricity was a thing of the past. It’d taken a mere week before everything shut down. At first they could get gas, had taken the Jeep and gotten out of Beacon Hills, but even gas pumps needed electricity. 

So they walked. 

Being with a group was better than being alone. They were stronger in numbers, could work together to kill any walkers that attacked. Stiles’ only solace was that he hadn’t had to kill anyone he knew, yet. 

“What’d you guys catch?” Stiles asked as they joined the group. They set up camp near a stream, for water, with a string perimeter to signal if they were being attacked. Being in the middle of Bumfuck, CA, there was wildlife around and one of the guys they were with was a trapper. Stiles wasn’t too fond of the guy, but food was important so Stiles kept his mouth shut most of the time. 

“A rabbit.”

“One rabbit?” Stiles asked with his hands on his hips, his fingers brushing over his exposed hip bones. He’d never been very meaty, but he was downright skinny now, his jeans hanging low on his hips with a rope being used as a makeshift belt. Scott knocked his shoulder against Stiles’ to get him to shut up. One bite was better than no bite, not to mention they had a woman who was diabetic with them and she needed food before they did. 

Stiles stalked off, his t-shirt hanging over his shoulder as he dragged his bat with the other. It wasn’t his bat, but one they’d found in an abandoned car on the highway before they’d left his Jeep. He’d wrapped it with barbed wire, and it worked well as a brain basher. 

Stiles wasn’t in the mood for no food. He was past hangry, he was livid. 

“Dude, you can have my piece,” Scott said as he watched Stiles walk back and forth, his hand over his mouth. He was parched, too, even though there was a stream nearby. They’d already boiled water that day, and needed the fire to cook the rabbit, and besides it needed to cool before they could drink it. 

Stiles was tired of waiting for everything, waiting for death to come. 

“We’re all hungry,” Stiles said, not wanting Scott to go hungry because he’d been selfish. They were all they had left in the world. 

In the end, they’d each gotten a little more than a bite, along with halves of a KIND bar, not near enough caloric intake for the amount of energy they’d been burning through. 

Stiles sat cross-legged, watching the sunset with his back to Scott, who faced towards the camp, the both of them using each other as a back rest. It’d been a quiet day, with no walkers in sight. Stiles would say it was lucky, but he knew better. 

Barely an hour after sunset, the warning system went off. Stiles scrambled to his feet, heading for the perimeter with Scott by his side. They weren’t alone, with everyone in their group joining them. It wasn’t just one walker, but an entire herd, over fifteen of them. Stiles bashed one of their heads in, getting a running start. He swung at another, knocking it back so he could get a wind up, blood splattering everywhere with the impact. 

He went into a blind rage, taking swing after swing as Scott shouted nearby in a war cry. Stiles looked at the sky for a moment, noticing how close the full moon was. It would be hard to keep Scott’s secret for very much longer when the moon’s pull would be at its peak. He didn’t have time to think about Scott’s werewolfitude, though, as a walker managed to grip his arm, tugging him towards their gaping, rabid mouth. 

There wasn’t any time to panic, only to act. Blink, and he’d die. Stiles kicked against the walker’s torso, pushing himself away, then swinging the bat, hitting it in the jaw. He wiped his arm on his tattered jeans, making a gagging face as he shook off the feeling of being touched by a decaying body. The stench was gruesome, vomit inducing, but Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t smell very good either. 

By the time the zombies were dead, again, Stiles was exhausted, but their camp was forfeit. They wouldn’t be sleeping at all, too exposed. Stiles wanted to collapse, but instead he draped his free arm around Scott, letting him hold some of Stiles’ featherlight weight. Scott could handle it, considering his super strength. 

They walked, slowly, downstream. Near dawn, they made camp, too tired to go on. Scott took first watch for the group, like he always did, because he could smell the stench of death on the walkers if he was paying attention. Usually Stiles stayed up with him, but he could barely keep his eyes open. With one hand on his bat, the other as a pillow, he passed out with his back against Scott’s. 

-

Derek sighed in frustration. 

“They were here,” he said, looking at the sheriff, his arms crossed and nostrils flared. “Scott and Stiles were here, maybe a day or two ago.” 

“We’re headed in the right direction, then,” he said, giving Derek and Jordan Parrish a look. The sheriff and Parrish were all that was left of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department. It wasn’t something they talked about, but they got out and that is all that mattered.   
Before they got the fuck out of Beacon Hills they managed to find Kira and Lydia, but not Scott or Stiles. Derek knew that thought weighed heaviest on the sheriff’s mind, but on his as well. He’d wanted to find Scott, wanted to make sure Stiles was okay. 

The day he’d picked up their scent, he wanted to howl at the moon with joy. Being the only werewolf in the group, he had to keep up his strength and energy. They’d been pushing hard for over a week trying to catch up to them, and it was starting to take its toll. They were running low on supplies, despite carrying all that they could. 

Lydia sat, sipping at her water bottle that they’d filled earlier. Derek readjusted the pack he was carrying, most of the bulk that they traveled with, with Parrish and the sheriff helping as best they could as well. Kira and Lydia’s packs consisted of their sleeping bags and spare clothes, which were very few. It was the middle of summer, but Derek wasn’t sure what was going to happen once fall and winter came. They’d need to find civilization, or what used to be civilization. 

One good thing about traveling with Kira was that she knew how to cut down a walker, slicing its head in half. They didn’t have many bullets left, so they rarely used them unless the need was dire. 

There hadn’t been any use for them yet. Derek didn’t carry a weapon, he used his claws. Parrish used a military grade KA-BAR, plunging it straight into their skulls. The sheriff had an axe, a hammer from his tool belt at home, and a crowbar at the ready, accessible from his pack. Lydia rounded out the group with Stiles’ bat, a KA-BAR of her own strapped to her thigh, and a walking stick that doubled as a bludgeoning weapon. 

They weren’t picking up strays, unless their names were Scott and Stiles. 

“We should rest,” the sheriff suggested. Derek was about to pass out where he stood, his feet stopping as soon as the sheriff said the words. Derek rolled his neck, cracking it as he shrugged off the massive pack he wore, swinging his arms in order to stretch out. 

Fifty-four days and still no Stiles. 

Jordan handed him a jug of water. As Derek drank nearly half of it down, he realized how much he missed ice water. His lips were parched, cracked from the summer sun. What he wouldn’t give for ice cubes, either to go in his water or to put on the back of his neck. 

He knew he needed rest, not sleeping nights while keeping vigilant for walkers, then traveling during the day to find Scott and Stiles. Derek allowed himself to sit down, his boots scraping across the solid ground, the muscles of his back flexing with relief. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Jordan promised. Derek grunted, nodding as he dug through his pack in search for his Henley. It was dirty, just like the tank top he had on, his jeans covered in dirt and blood. He didn’t think about it as he wrapped the Henley around his face in order to block out the sun. He just needed a few hours of rest and he’d be ready to go. 

When Derek awoke, it was to the smell of death. His nostrils flared as he shot up, wrenching the shirt from his face. 

“Derek?” Kira asked, scrambling to her feet, her fingers clasped around her sword, ever at the ready. “Do you smell them?” 

“Yes,” Derek growled, his eyes flashing blue. He didn’t need to stick his nose up in the air in order to smell their stench. The others stirred; apparently it had been Kira’s watch. The sun was still in the sky, with no walkers in sight. But that didn’t matter, because Derek could hear them. He held a hand up, signaling for them all to still so he could concentrate. 

“At least seven of them,” Derek said, his voice hushed as he unleashed his claws, cracking his neck as his fangs elongated. With his eyes, he indicated for Kira to follow him. Together they stalked off into the nearby woods. 

The walkers had a deer, feasting on it. Derek reared back before he swung his claws. They plunged into the decaying flesh easily, giving Derek the satisfaction of feeling the walker go limp in his grip. Kira disposed of two with one swing, twisting around in a circle, her stance perfect with blood splattered across her face. She wiped it away with her sleeve. Her hair was braided, up out of the way thanks to Lydia. 

Behind them, Derek heard the others joining the fight. Derek kicked the chest of another walker, tossing it to the ground before lunging forward and punching it’s skull inwards. 

When the walkers were dead, completely decimated, Derek let his arms go limp, his claws and fangs retracting as he looked up at the sky, his chest heaving. 

“We need to move on,” Derek said after a long silence. No one protested. He caught the sight of Lydia, Stiles’ bat in her hands, bloodied. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. “Come on.”

They packed their things with haste, Derek’s back rested and healed from the few hours he got of shut eye. He couldn’t pick up their scent, but he knew they were getting closer. That thought alone had him pushing himself to go on in order to find them. 

-

 **fifty-five.**

Stiles looked up at the moon, only a sliver of it missing, in the sky. 

“Tomorrow’s the full moon,” Stiles said as nibbled on his ration. It was meager, as always, but he tried to eat it slowly, to savor it. Beside him, Scott grunted, his face drawn in a frown. Stiles glanced at the rest of the group, all laid out to sleep. With every movement around them, Scott’s attention moved, listening for the threat of the walkers. 

“What are we going to do?” Stiles asked. 

“I could use the aggression on the walkers,” Scott said, shrugging nonchalantly even though his back was stiff, on edge. 

“You’re going to shift,” Stiles pointed out. “I think we should leave.”

“We can’t survive on our own,” Scott hissed. Stiles knew that, he did, but he’d rather them go off on their own than have the group they were with gun down Scott as soon as they saw his red eyes. They’d call him a monster, the enemy, even though the enemy was the never ending horde of zombies. 

There hadn’t been time to speculate how it happened, how it spread. Within hours it had been chaos. There was no slow infestation, it had been quick and bloody. All communication had been shut down. There was no TV, no radio, no satellites for phones. It was the end of the world. 

Stiles sniffed, wiping his nose with his forearm as he thought about how his last words to his father had been a sarcastic comment. It made his stomach turn. Now he’d never see him again. 

“I don’t want them to turn on us,” Stiles mumbled, kicking idly at a rock as he cleared his throat, his eyes bleary from unshed tears. He was surprised he’d even had any left. 

“I’ll protect you,” Scott promised. Stiles laughed bitterly with a shake of his head. 

“You’re the one that needs protecting,” Stiles grumbled. Scott’s head shot up, his eyes wide, flashing red as he stood. Stiles stood along with him, his hand grabbing hold of his bat. “Is it walkers?” Stiles asked in a hushed voice. Scott had a hand against Stiles’ chest, holding him in place as he took a step forward. In the distance, a glint of blue shown in the darkness. 

Stiles’ heart lept, his eyes playing tricks on him. It couldn’t actually be him, he thought to himself. He hadn’t allowed himself to hope. 

“Stay here,” Scott said as he left Stiles alone in the darkness. 

“Scott!” Stiles hissed, keeping his voice down so their group didn’t stir. He took a step forward, then another and another. He followed Scott into the darkness, his heart still in his throat. “Scott?” Stiles asked as he stopped, looking around. His eyes were adjusted to the dark, and the moon was bright, but didn’t see anything, or anyone. 

“Stiles.”

Stiles breath hitched in his throat at the voice he knew so well. He turned to see his father, looking thinner than he’d ever seen him, his face wary except for a smile.

“Dad,” Stiles said as he dropped his bat, running forward as his dad enveloped him in a hug. Stiles let out a choked sob as his shoulders shook. His father was alive, he was okay and he was _there_ in his arms. Stiles didn’t want to let go. 

“Freeze,” a man, one from the group Stiles had been traveling with, said as he cocked a gun. Stiles turned to see a gun aimed at him. “Step away from him.” 

“Listen, son,” his dad said. “I’m his father.” 

“How many are you?” The man, Jerry, asked, moving the gun, indicating for Stiles to step away from him. Stiles didn’t move. 

“I’m with a group of four others,” he said. “We’ve been searching for my son and his best friend.” Stiles looked to his dad, searching for any indication who the other four could be. He looked around, searching for any sign of them. Instead, his eyes landed on his bat, by Jerry on the ground. 

“Put the gun down, Jerry,” Stiles hissed. “They aren’t going to hurt us.” 

“They could be infected.”

“They aren’t walkers,” Stiles said, stepping between his dad and Jerry. “Stop aiming a gun at my dad.” 

“We don’t know what sort of people you are,” Jerry said. “We took in the two boys, kept em’ fed. We can’t take on five more.” 

“You won’t need to,” Scott said, appearing by the Sheriff. Stiles caught sight of Kira, though he kept his eyes focused on Jerry. “We’re leaving with them.” 

“And the weapons we gave you?” Jerry asked. “What about the food we shared.”

“Are you trying to say we’re to you?” Stiles asked, his teeth gnashing together as he stepped forwards, his fists clenched. 

“Yeah, I am,” Jerry said with a twisted grin, eerie in the moon light. Jerry pointed the gun at Stiles. Both the sheriff and Scott inched forward, reaching out, but Stiles stopped them with a lift of his hand. 

“Jerry, don’t be stupid,” Stiles said, looking down the barrel of the gun. “You shoot that gun and every walker in a mile radius will be on you. You’ll be dead.” Jerry laughed, manic. 

“You owe us,” Jerry said. Another gun was cocked as Parrish put a gun to Jerry’s temple, his head tilted to the side, lips in a thin line. 

“Deputy Jordan Parrish,” Jordan said by way of introduction. “Former Lieutenant in the US Army. How about you put that gun down?” 

Jerry hesitated and Jordan pressed the barrel harder against the side of Jerry’s head. Jerry dropped his hand with the gun. Stiles broke eye contact with it, finally, clenching his hand to his chest as he stumbled away, allowing Jordan to face Jerry and take his gun. It was then, as his dad grabbed hold of him, that Stiles saw the red of Lydia’s hair. He started laughing with relief. He was alive, Lydia was alive, his father was alive. 

If only--

“Take us to your camp, we’re going to have a little chat,” Jordan said, shoving Jerry towards the camp. Scott lead the way. With his father’s hand on the back of his neck, Stiles let himself be lead. His brow furrowed as he counted them off: his dad, Lydia, Parrish, and Kira. 

“Who’s the fifth?” Stiles asked. 

“Laying low in case we need back up,” was his dad’s answer. Stiles thought about who it could be, his mind jumping to Chris Argent, probably in the trees with a sniper rifle. 

When they got to camp, everyone was awake and agitated.

“We come in peace,” the sheriff said, stepping forward with his hands up. Stiles didn’t leave his side.

“Then why do you have a gun on Jerry?” A woman asked. 

“Because he had a gun on Stiles,” his father said. “My son.” 

“Jerry wouldn’t hurt Stiles,” the same woman scoffed. 

Stiles and Scott stepped forward, exchanging glances before Stiles spoke. 

“He did. Said that Scott and I couldn’t leave to go with my dad, said that we were indebted to you.” He looked around at them as they looked at one another. “He’s my dad,” Stiles pointed out. “Are any of you going to put up a fight if Scott and I leave you?”

“You’re good fighters, we need you,” someone spoke up. Stiles shrugged. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. “But that isn’t a reason to keep us against our wills, like we’re your slaves.” 

“You can go,” Jerry said through gritted teeth. “In exchange for food.” 

“You want me to buy my son?” The sheriff asked. “To barter for him?”

“The world is gone,” Jerry said, gaining confidence now that he was with his group. “Might as well make due. They ate a lot of food, especially that one,” Jerry said as he pointed at Scott. “Give us food, and we’ll let them go with you.”

“You say that like we can’t just walk off with them,” Stiles scoffed, his eyes narrowed as he gripped his bat tight. “I’d like to see you try to keep me here.”

Jerry knocked Jordan’s gun away from him before he dove for Stiles, teeth bared, his eyes wide and crazy as he took Stiles to the ground. 

“Shoot me and he’s dead,” Jerry said, putting Stiles in a headlock. All he had to do was yank his neck to the side and he’d be dead. Even though Jordan had his gun pointed at him, he couldn’t shoot. Stiles struggled beneath him, angry that he’d had his defenses down for that split second. Jerry stank, his hands gripping hard against his neck, blocking his air passage. Stiles sputtered, his hands clawing at Jerry helplessly. “Well, what’s it gonna be old man?” 

“Let him go,” Scott said with a snarl, his eyes flashing red.

“What the--” 

From the woods, a roar echoed. Jerry let Stiles go, his head hitting the ground as he gasped for air, choking on it as Lydia ran forward, helping Stiles to his feet as Derek appeared, wolfed out. 

“What-- Shoot it!” Jerry screamed as Scott came forward, gripping Jerry’s shirt tight, lifting him into the air. “What are you?” 

“I’m a werewolf, and you fucked with the wrong group,” he said as Derek joined him, his claws out. “Do you want to die?” Scott asked. 

“No,” Jerry stammered. What little guns the group had on them, they were all pointed at Scott and Derek. Jordan had his pointed at Jerry for good measure. 

“Put your weapons down,” the sheriff bellowed, his voice carrying. “If anyone shoots, we’re all dead.” Stiles watched as everyone hesitated, but his eyes couldn’t leave Derek, his chest constricting at the sight of him. 

Slowly, Scott let Jerry down. Derek lunged forward, posturing, scaring him into stumbling backwards towards his group. 

“We’re leaving,” Scott said. “With no compensation. We kept you safe, that’s enough.” 

“If we see you again, you’re dead,” Jerry said. Derek growled, taking a step forwards. Scott put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Leave them. We kill walkers, not people.” 

Derek acquiesced, shifting back to his human form. Stiles remained unmoving as Scott pointed out Stiles’ pack as he picked up his own. They didn’t have much with them. With his father’s arm around him and Lydia beside him, Stiles turned his back on the group of people he’d been traveling with. 

They walked into the darkness together, leaving the others behind. 

-

Derek’s self control was frayed as he held onto Stiles’ pack, his scent filling his nostrils. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, rub his face against Stiles’ neck or any exposed skin he could, but he held back. Once they got to where they’d piled their packs, Derek handed Stiles’ pack back to him. 

Stiles dropped it to the ground, throwing his arms around Derek, burying his face against Derek’s neck, practically climbing him like a tree. Derek allowed him, holding Stiles up so he could wrap his legs around Derek. Derek pressed his nose against Stiles’ exposed neck, breathing him in, his eyes closing. He was thin, so much thinner than Derek remembered. It made Derek ache, wanting to provide for him. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Stiles whispered. Derek smiled, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles’ back. 

“We caught your scent and I think I fell to my knees with relief,” Derek admitted. Stiles slowly untangled himself from Derek, embarrassed about their public display. Once on the ground, Stiles wiped at his face, though there was a smile on it. He punched Derek in the bicep, then ran his fingers over Derek’s beard. Derek leaned into it, seeking Stiles’ touch. 

“I suggest we put as much space between those fuckers and us,” Parrish suggested, breaking up the sexual tension. 

“I agree,” the sheriff said. “Sometimes it’s the people who are the monsters.” 

-

Stiles watched as Kira and Scott held hands as they walked, happy to be reunited. Lydia walked in front of him, alongside Parrish, which didn’t surprise Stiles as much as seeing Lydia with knives and weapons did. It was a good look on her. 

He and Derek bumped shoulders as they walked side by side, with the sheriff on the other side of Stiles. Stiles was tired, having been on first watch. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. His eyes grew heavier with every step as they continued onwards. 

“Stop,” Scott said ahead of them, jolting Stiles out of the state of semi asleep he’d been as he put one foot in front of the other. He bumped into Parrish, jolting him awake. “Derek, do you hear that?” 

“I do,” Derek said beside him, giving Stiles a look. “Get ready,” Derek told them. “Kira, with me.” 

Stiles wanted to protest as Derek dropped his pack beside Stiles’ feet, giving Stiles one more look before he and Kira went on ahead of the group, scouting for walkers. 

“He and Kira make good scouts,” Parrish assured Stiles. “If it’s only a few, they take care of it, if it’s more we come in as back up. No use in all of us dropping our packs.” It made sense, but that didn’t mean Stiles liked it any more or less. 

Barely three minutes later Derek and Kira reappeared, Kira cleaning her blade of its blood as Derek’s fingers dripped with walker blood. 

“All clear,” Derek assured them. Before Derek could put on his pack, Stiles grabbed his face, cupping it in his hands before he pressed his lips against Derek’s. 

“I didn’t get to do that before,” Stiles said against Derek’s lips. “Before--”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, hooking his hand around the nape of Stiles’ neck. “We’re okay.” Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s as he nodded his head. He’d been mad at Derek the last time he’d seen him, over something so trivial it didn’t even matter in the long run. What mattered was that Stiles had been angry, hadn’t kissed him before Derek stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Hours later, the world was chaos. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, looking Derek in the eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Derek said, his thumb pressing against Stiles’ pulse point in his neck. Stiles kissed him again. 

“The sun’s been up for a while now,” The sheriff said, pointedly not paying attention to Stiles and Derek. “I think it’s time we get some rest.” 

Stiles wouldn’t argue with that. 

“We’ll take shifts.” 

“Kira and I will go first,” Scott said, grinning as he swung her hand back and forth. Stiles couldn’t believe that less than a day ago he thought that he and Scott were alone in the world, that everyone they’d known was dead. 

“The full moon’s tonight,” Derek said as Lydia handed out sleeping bags to lay down on. “I suggest we travel then, with Scott and I as scouts.” 

“Good idea,” the sheriff said. “We’ll cover a lot of ground.” 

There weren’t enough sleeping bags for everyone, but he didn’t even think twice before he followed Derek onto his. He’d unzipped it all of the way, using it as a blanket on the ground because of how hot it was. Stiles clung to Derek, using Derek’s arm as a pillow as he buried his face against Derek’s chest in order to block out the light. 

For the first time in fifty-five days, Stiles slept soundlessly, without waking at every snapped twig or indistinct noise of the forest. As he slowly woke up, he could feel Derek breathing beside him, his chest rising and falling evenly, still asleep himself. Stiles lay there, enjoying the feel of Derek against him and for a moment, Stiles was able to forget that they were in the middle of an apocalypse. 

“Stiles, time to get up,” he heard his dad say. Stiles couldn’t keep himself from grinning as he rolled over, looking at his dad who hovered over him. The sun was low in the sky as he sat up, stretching as Derek rolled over onto his back, clearly awake as well, though not quite ready to get up yet. “You too, Derek.” 

“We didn’t have a watch,” Stiles pointed out as he got to his feet. 

“You’ll have the split shift later,” his dad said with a wink. “But we need to eat before we keep going.” 

Stiles’ stomach growled when food was mentioned. He held onto his stomach, patting it as his brow furrowed. 

“Hey, Dad?” Stiles asked, grabbing the Sheriff’s attention. 

“Yeah, son?” 

“Do you guys have enough food? I mean-- will there be enough now that there are more of us?” 

“We’ll have enough,” his dad assured him. “Come on, we have beans and rice.” 

“What,” Scott said, elongating it. “Beans and rice for real?” 

“How did you make it?” Stiles asked. 

“Canned beans, and we have rice. Parrish carries the cookware.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, his eyes wide as he watched Parrish dollop red beans and rice into a collapsible bowl then hand it to Scott. Stiles’ mouth watered as Derek handed Stiles his bowl, opening it up first. 

“Here,” Derek said. “Use mine, I’ll eat after you do.” Stiles took the bowl, looking down at it in awe. When Parrish gave Stiles two ladles full, he almost sobbed. It was more food than he’d in in a full day in weeks, the rations being so small with the other group. Stiles almost dug in with his fingers before Derek thrust a spoon in front of his face. 

He ate it so fast it barely had time to cool. 

Stiles lay on the ground, watching Derek eat his serving, his hand lazily resting on Derek’s thigh as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. 

After cleaning up and handing around water for everyone, they packed up to head out with Scott and Derek leading the way, wolfed out so they could enjoy the full moon. Stiles stuck by his dad, walking just behind Kira who was at the ready with her sword. 

They’d walked for miles before they hit a highway. It had been weeks since Stiles last saw asphalt. 

“What’s the plan?” Stiles asked his father. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, what’s the plan? What are we doing?” 

“We’re surviving,” the sheriff said. “Searching for somewhere safe.”

“There isn’t anywhere safe,” Stiles said as they made their way south. “They’ll be everywhere.”

“Then we will make a safe place,” Parrish spoke up. “You know, I used to love zombie movies. But most of them showed you what it was like at the beginning, not later. We’re to the part where no one talks about it-- what could happen. There has to be a way.” 

“Scavenge,” Lydia said. “Gather supplies, be near a city, but don’t live in it because of the amount of walkers. An island would be best, where they can’t get to us, but islands are hard to come by in California.” 

“Hmm,” Stiles wondered as they walked past road markers and a sign for a town ten miles ahead. “We should search this town, see if anything remains,” Stiles suggested. “I could fill my pack, and Scott could too. They are only backpacks but I have nothing in it right now but a plaid shirt and what used to be a few rations I was hiding. Those are gone, now.” 

“We’ll tell them as soon as they circle back towards us.” 

The town was eerie in the darkness, too quiet and desolate. There were no lights, which wasn’t surprising, as they walked using the moon’s light to guide them. 

“We should find a place to set up until morning,” Parrish suggested. Derek and Scott had rejoined them, Derek not leaving Stiles’ side as his blue eyes glinted in the moonlight. 

They searched through the first house they came across, finding it empty of any walkers. They considered themselves lucky. They pushed furniture up against the doors, blocked the windows, then camped out on the floor in their sleeping bags, none of them on watch. As they laid there, Derek put his arm around Stiles, pulling him close, his nose nudging against Stiles’ forehead. Stiles lifted his head up, catching Derek’s lips with his own. They weren’t alone, but that didn’t stop them from deepening the kiss. Derek rolled on top of him, a leg slipping between Stiles’ as Derek pressed his palm against Stiles’ hip. Stiles bit Derek’s bottom lip, sucking on it, his body reacting to Derek’s touch. 

“Dudes,” Scott hissed as quietly as possible. Stiles let out a low groan as Derek palmed him through his jeans. 

“Do I need to separate you two?” The sheriff asked from across the room. That got them to stop, Stiles’ cheeks reddening. He’d forgotten where they were, for a moment. Derek grinned against Stiles’ neck, placing a kiss against it before he settled, his body still half on top of Stiles’. 

Stiles woke up with a hardon, which wasn’t a surprise since he was pressed up against Derek and hadn’t come in fifty-six days, which had to be a record. Stiles moaned as he shifted, seeking any kind of friction. He opened his eyes to see the sun peeking through the blocked windows, and that everyone else was still asleep. Derek lay beside him, a leg draped over Stiles, his face relaxed. Stiles shifted again, his hand gripping Derek’s tank top to find purchase. He grunted as Derek stirred, his hand grasping at Stiles’ ass. 

“Not here,” Derek whispered as he stood up, helping Stiles to his feet by tugging his hand. There was a bathroom on the first floor, a half bath, which they barely fit in with both feet on the ground. Derek had Stiles up on the counter, his legs wrapped around Derek’s torso as they kissed, the two of them groping each other through their jeans. Stiles groaned as Derek undid his jeans, then Stiles’, wrapping his hand around them both.

They were in the dark, but it didn’t matter, Stiles could feel what Derek was up to. Stiles rolled his hips against Derek’s hand, fucking up into it, moaning at the sensation of his dick rubbing against Derek’s. 

“Stiles?” His dad called out. 

“Derek?” Parrish shouted. The others were up, and they were worried. Stiles scrambled off the counter, cussing as he tried to get his dick back into his pants in the dark. 

“In here!” Stiles shouted. “Fuck, shit,” he mumbled. “Can’t see.” 

Derek’s blue eyes where all he could make out in the dark. A knock on the door made Stiles jump. 

“Yep!” Stiles said, his voice higher than normal.

“Is Derek--”

“Yes,” Derek grumbled. “We’re--”

“Oh, god,” the sheriff said with a sigh as they opened the door. The sheriff stood there with his arms crossed as Stiles bit his bottom lip. 

“Sorry?” Stiles said with a shrug. 

“Come on, we’re searching the town for supplies.” 

-

Derek didn’t want to think about the fact that the sheriff knew exactly what he and his son had been doing in the bathroom. Stiles had a very distinct look about him after he got off, or started to at least. His lips were red, as were his cheeks, and his eyes always had the same wide eyed expression like he couldn’t believe someone else had been touching him. 

It was a look that Derek cherished as something only he got to be the cause of. 

Embarrassed, Stiles wiped at his mouth, then straightened his clothes before he helped pack up their things. Derek remained silent, pointedly avoiding both Stiles and his father’s gazes. 

Most of the town was vacant, only a few of the buildings had graffiti on them, and most of the storefronts still had their glass intact, which was a good sign that looters hadn’t gotten to it yet. Their group where the looters that got first dibs. 

Derek smashed the window of a gas station convenience store, which felt therapeutic in a way. He got the go ahead from the sheriff first, which was ironic considering he was the law. 

Stiles and Scott ran down the aisles like it was a theme park, tossing candy into the air and opening a bag of chips. 

“It’s going to make you sick,” the sheriff scolded, but they didn’t stop. Derek went for the Gatorade, the bottles of water, as Lydia stowed away all the power bars she could find. Kira snuck Little Debbie powdered donuts into her bag while Parrish held up toilet paper, shaking it over his head like he’d found the jackpot. 

After stuffing as much as they could into Stiles and Scott’s backpacks, along with filling up a few plastic bags full, they left the store. 

“I think we should head out of town, down a back road,” Parrish suggested. “Find a place nearby we could camp at, run the town dry.” 

The sheriff looked around, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. 

“I guess here is as safe as anywhere else.”

They didn’t run into any walkers until they were walking down a dirt path, and even then, Parrish had killed it within seconds. There was a farmhouse, abandoned, that they decided to search through. 

Leaving their packs at the door with their weapons at the ready, they searched the house. The family that had lived in it were still there, one of them almost trapping Stiles before he managed to swing his bat, spraying their nicely wallpapered walls with brains and blood. Stiles hated wallpaper. 

After clearing the house of zombies, they blockaded it. Sitting in a circle in the den they spread out their food. Derek had taken a can of Coke and decided to open it. 

Everyone opened a drink, then looked around at each other. 

“To survival,” the sheriff said, lifting his room temperature Dr. Pepper. 

“To finding lost friends,” Lydia said with a smile, looking to Stiles and Derek. 

“To life,” Parrish said. 

They all took a drink. 

After having a Thanksgiving in the middle of summer where they gorged themselves on chips, soda, and candy, they ended up playing cards with a deck that Parrish snatched from the store. Eventually, Scott and Kira made their way upstairs to one of the bedrooms for some privacy. Lydia and Parrish took the pull out couch, while the sheriff commandeered a recliner without saying anything more than a ‘good night’ to Stiles and Derek. 

Stiles took Derek’s had as he lead him upstairs with a plastic bag that he held close to his chest. There was one room left, with the windows open to let in a breeze, airing out the stench of death and musty stale air. 

“I can’t see,” Stiles said with a laugh as he stumbled towards the bed he knew was there. It was still made, from Z-day, before the world went to shit. Derek sobered at the thought, not wanting to desecrate the memory of the family that was no more. “Hey, come here,” Stiles said, reaching his hand out in the dark. Derek could see him just fine, obviously, but Stiles had a far off look in his eyes because he couldn’t completely see Derek. Derek took his hand, and Stiles smiled. 

“Guess what I stole,” Stiles said with a conspiratory grin. 

“What?” Derek asked as he stepped forward between Stiles’ spread legs. The plastic bag rustled as Stiles took two items out of it: condoms and lube. Derek chuckled as he leaned forward, capturing Stiles’ lips with his own. His body reacted as he pushed Stiles down onto the bed, laying ontop of him as the kiss deepened. Stiles moaned against Derek’s mouth, writhing beneath him as he tugged on Derek’s tank top. 

“Naked, you need to be more naked,” Stiles said. 

“Why the rush?” Derek asked. He wanted to take his time, make Stiles come apart beneath him. 

“Because I haven’t gotten off since fifty-seven days ago okay.” 

“You want to come?” Derek asked as he licked up Stiles’ neck, tasting of dirt and sweat. Stiles nodded his head as he grabbed Derek’s ass, rolling his hips against Derek’s erection. 

“Fuck, yes, okay,” Stiles stammered as Derek reached between Stiles’ legs and outlined his erection with his fingers, stroking him over the fabric of his worn jeans. Derek striped Stiles of his clothes, mouthing at his nipples, then his stomach, finally taking Stiles’ cock in his mouth. Stiles sighed with happiness, his fingers raking through Derek’s hair, tugging it as his cock hit the back of Derek’s throat. “I’m not gonna last--”

Derek wanted to taste him, wanted to lick every last drop from him. 

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed as he rocked his hips, fucking Derek’s mouth as he came down it, his body going limp as Derek withdrew, wiping his mouth. “Fuck,” Stiles murmured. 

Derek took off his own tank top, then his jeans and briefs before he joined Stiles on the bed, opening the lube and package of condoms. 

“Your turn,” Stiles said, sitting up. “Want me to--”

“I got it,” Derek said with a smile. “Unless you want to--”

“You want to fuck me?” Stiles asked. The way he said it, his head tilted to the side with a fucked out look across his face, had Derek’s cock twitch between his legs. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, his voice gruffer than normal. Stiles grinned as he leaned forward, capturing Derek’s lips in another kiss, this one open mouthed and lewd as he climbed into Derek’s lap. 

“Like this,” Stiles said as he cupped Derek’s face in his hands, hooking his legs together behind Derek as he sat in Derek’s lap. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, his hands running down Stiles’ sides as they kissed. He took his time, knowing Stiles had already gotten off, by marking Stiles’ neck, scenting him, touching every part of him before opening the lube. Stiles moaned against Derek’s neck as he held onto him. When Derek inserted a finger, Stiles shuddered against him, grinning against his shoulder. “Fuck, that feels good.” 

Fifty-seven days was too long to be without Stiles. 

“Give me more,” Stiles said against Derek’s ear, his breath hot on his skin. Derek complied, pressing a second finger inwards. Stiles began to rock his hips against Derek’s fingers, fucking himself on them. 

When Stiles was ready, Derek rolled on a condom, lining himself up against Stiles’ entrance. Derek grunted as he slid inwards, holding onto Stiles’ waist as he sunk down onto Derek’s cock. Stiles bit Derek’s bottom lip as they both started to move, slow and deep. Stiles panted against Derek’s open mouth, his eyes shut tight, cheeks tinged red and lips swollen and wet. Derek couldn’t handle the way Stiles looked, how he felt in his arms. He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost him forever. 

Derek shifted his body, hooking his hands around Stiles’ knees as he rolled Stiles onto his back, fucking into him as he spread his legs. Stiles kept Derek close by holding onto the nape of his neck, licking up into Derek’s mouth as Derek’s pace quickened. 

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles said, his breath hitching with every thrust. “Come on.”

Derek kissed Stiles back, stilling within him as he came. Stiles gripped Derek’s ass, keeping him in place. Derek rode out his climax, continuing to thrust in and out until he was getting soft. Stiles lay pliant beneath him, his hands seeking Derek out as soon as he pulled out. Derek discarded the condom, then wrapped his arms around Stiles, not wanting to leave his side, needing the contact. 

“I love you,” Stiles let out in a choked sob as Derek kissed his hairline. “I didn’t say it--”

“I know,” Derek said, his voice wavering. “I know you do. You didn’t need to say it.” 

“I didn’t say it before Z-day because I was scared. I never said it and I regretted it every day.” 

“I love you, too,” Derek said. “And we said it now and that’s all that matters.”

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Stiles asked, his fingers trailing over Derek’s bare arms, his eyes closing as he began drifting off to sleep in Derek’s arms. Derek didn’t answer as he felt Stiles’ breathing even out beneath him. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat. 

They’d make it. Derek didn’t have any intention of anything else happening to Stiles, or anyone in their group, for that matter. 

They’d survive.


End file.
